“I’m not a movie star,” I say to her.
“You are. Come on, Jackson. I’ve heard things. I know you sleep around.”
“Maybe I did, but I don’t anymore,” I say. “Maybe I’m trying to be better.”
That just makes her laugh even more, which pisses me off. I’m getting sick of this fake date, and free food isn’t making up for it. Holly really does seem like a fucking asshole, and I already regret telling her the truth.
“Listen, you’ll find this out pretty fast. Relationships don’t work out here. It’s just not that kind of place.”
“I don’t care about Hollywood,” I say to her.
She sighs and sips her wine. “Whatever, I get it. You have some farm girl you’re pining for back home. But here’s the truth: you’re stuck with me, and you better not fuck it up.”
I stare at her and she just smiles. “Here’s to our relationship,” she says, raising her glass.
I toast her and sip my whisky, watching as she slowly finishes her salad.
Holly is going to be dangerous. I can see that now. I assumed she was just some Hollywood bimbo with nice tits, but I think she’s a lot more than that. She seems smarter than I realized, and she clearly doesn’t give a shit about what I want at all. The only thing Holly cares about is whatever she can do to get ahead.
Which means she’ll be the first person to fuck me over if the opportunity arises. She knows I’m in love with someone now, but she doesn’t realize who yet. She saw me dancing with Tara the other night, and she should have put it together right there on the spot. But clearly she’s too shallow and self-centered to notice something like that. She probably only notices it when guys are looking at her.
The dinner mercifully comes to an end. Since the studio is getting the check, we simply get up and leave. I help Holly into her light jacket, although it’s fucking nice outside this time of year. When we get onto the sidewalk, the paparazzi descend like fucking vultures, snapping pictures and yelling in our faces.
“Kiss for us!” one of them yells, and the rest of the guys take up the call.
Holly turns to me, a grin on her face. My heart starts hammering and I realize that I’m supposed to actually go through with this.
But before I can, I picture what Tara would think if she saw that. This fake fucking relationship is bad enough as it is, and it’s going to take some explaining. But if she saw me actually kissing Holly, I don’t think she’d forgive me, and I can totally understand that.
Plus, she revolts me. Everything about Holly’s self-centered personality turns me off. She’s emblematic of the whole culture out here, and it’s a culture that I don’t love at all. Sure, making movies and acting is a fun way to make a living, but some of the people in this business are downright horrifying. Holly is pretty much average in that regard.
So instead of kissing her, I put on my best winning smile and turn to the cameras. “Sorry, boys,” I say. “You’ll have to watch the movie if you want to see that.”
Some of the guys laugh and I take Holly’s hand. I press through the mass of cameras until we finally get inside of the car that brought us here.
Once settled, Holly turns to me. “You should have fucking kissed me,” she says. “What’s the difference? We’ve kissed plenty.”
“That was for work.”
“This is too,” she snaps. “Just man up and kiss me.”
I stare at her for a second before leaning in toward her. “Get something straight. I don’t give a fuck about you or about this movie. I’m doing this for my own reasons. Don’t fucking push me.”
She looks surprised and for the first time since I’ve met her, she doesn’t have something to say. I lean back and look out the window, annoyed at this whole fucking situation.
But at least I didn’t kiss her. That would have been easier than standing up for myself, but I’m not a total fucking pushover. I want to get what I want, and I have to play the game a little bit. I just hope I can make Tara see the truth.
14
Tara
The next morning, I wake up and I feel like the whole Jackson thing was a dream.
I get up, brush my teeth, and get ready for work. When I go out into the kitchen for a quick breakfast, I find Laney still sitting on the couch.
I poke my head into the living room. “Up early or late?” I ask her.
She turns back to me and gives me a bleary smile. “Can we say both?” she asks.
“Get some sleep,” I say, and head back into the kitchen. I pour myself some coffee and lean up against the counter as I sip it.